It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that I hate going to the dentist. Like with a capital H. I hate the sounds. I hate even the softest of cleanings. I hate those little cardboard things you bite down on for X-rays. And I hate the gum probe and the pick they use as they tap the top of a tooth and ask, “does that hurt?” Yes it hurts so please stop!
I am so insanely afraid of and dread any dental procedure that I’m on record as saying I’d rather have my “annual” exam or even a colonoscopy than go to the dentist. Much like taking your car into a mechanic, it just seems like you go in for a cleaning and you leave needing a crown, root canal, and EMS for gum recession. Trouble is, when you avoid the dentist like I do, you have longer and more painful visits when you do go and may indeed need some or all of those. Raising my hand.
I’ve put off and avoided my twice-a-year cleanings for a couple of years now but finally bit the bullet last week. As one might expect, it was not good news. I need “deep” cleaning, a crown, laser something or other, and a host of preventative procedures and peccadilloes. So, I was back at the dentist today for appointment #1 of two this week but guess what? I didn’t want the appointment to end! Because…gas!
Yep, the ole nitrous oxide filled my nose and I couldn’t give a flip about any scraping, poking, or awful noises. I also had my phone’s ITunes in my ears (note to all: dentists no longer supply those old school headphones so take your earbuds) so hearing Randy Rogers, Fleetwood Mac, and even a little Peaches and Herb helped ease my pain and anxiety even more. It also got me thinking about why the ‘60s were what they were considering the prevalent mix of music and drugs. Laying back in that chair I was totally in “the age of Aquarius” and had complete“peace and understanding” as the hygienist poked and prodded and told me when to “close” so all that spittle could be sucked out of my mouth.
It’s all so very glamorous, isn’t it? I had a mask over my nose (for all that yummy gas!), sunglasses on, earbuds in, and drool going who knows where. All the while though I was picking out homes on “House Hunters” and watching Chip and Joanna fix one up and thought in my gas-filled head, “they sure make Waco look nice, don’t they?!”
In between all of this I remember my dentist, cute little thing that she is, telling me she lives in my neighborhood and jogged past my house the other day. What? You mean you can deliver gas to me? If only.
I do love this new dentist though. I’ve never had a female dentist and specifically picked her for that reason. Boy am I glad I did. She’s as cute as a button and young enough to be my daughter, but she is very thorough and personable. I also love my hygienist. They seem to get along great but I couldn’t help but think what different lives they live even though they are probably about the same age. Young Dr. Cutie Pie lives in the “old” section of our neighborhood in a ginormous house with her three young sons and husband while Sweet Honey of a Hygienist is a single mom of two beautiful girls. Me? I fall somewhere between them and can relate to both. I love that about life. And nitrous oxide.
I’m following doctor’s orders and bought an electric toothbrush and water pick and vow to get semiannual cleanings from now on. I’m not loving the toothbrush just yet though, as it kinda reminds me of some of the tools used when you visit the dentist. And the water pick? Well, let’s just say my clothing and bathroom mirrors have gotten “flossed” almost as much as my teeth. Guess they both take some getting used to. I’ll be patient and a good patient though because as Dr. Seuss once said, “Teeth are always in style.”
Now, I’m back home with a droopy mouth, pain-filled cheek, and no gas. But I’m a little excited, as I get to do it all again on Thursday for a crown! Yippee! Gas her up!